An Aussie morning gift

This morning I reluctantly rose early. I would have killed for a sleep-in because I had one of those nights where I had trouble sleeping.  I walked into the study, sat at the computer and looked out the window at my garden and the bush reserve at the back.

I never wanted to be a photographer more.  After a week of torrential rain and dark days it was as if someone had strung fairy lights all through the bush. The trees and ferns and plants were sparkling with hundreds of tiny lights, even the grass.  The sun streamed through the trees lighting soft shafts of light through the fine morning mist.  It was like those photos you see where clever photographers have caught the streams of light spearing through from behind an amazing tree. Here and there one light seemed to sparkle brighter as if to say “look at me – look at me”.  An errant breeze whispered through the leaves for just a few seconds stirring the sparkles and then the bush settled back into the morning stillness.

I wish I had the skill to describe this and share with you.  It is particularly wonderful because of the awful weather we have had this last week and indeed for most of the summer just gone.   Look -  there goes another ‘Look at me” sparkle and I know this is a leaf spinning on the end of one strand of cobweb but it’s too far away to see more than the magic sparkle.

The sun lays pathways across the grass, and further back it spotlights individual pockets of the bush, contrasting them against the darker shadowy pockets where the sun can’t quite reach. There between the ends of two branches of the wattle tree is a delicately fine spider web  shining golden in the sun – a golden orb spider has spun this one,- while nearby another misty grey spider web shimmers like a tiny bit of soft grey mist.  And look, there is a tiny spider web seemingly suspended in mid-air with no visible support.  This one you would never see except for the few moments the sun has caught it just so this morning. And see there in the garden the sun now scatters the fairy lights on a few of the plants and on the vine covering the back fence. 

I open the window to hear the birds more clearly and their songs echo in the slightly misty air seeming to celebrate this bright morning.  And if I listen carefully I can hear the little creek down the back bubbling and burbling along its way.  This is fairly rare because the creek really only runs like this after heavy rainfall. So everything brings its own blessing.

Wouldn’t you know – I left my I-phone at work last night and I can’t take even an amateur photo of this.  As I sit here the scene begins to change as the sun rises higher.  My bush - as I like to think of it -  presents a different picture depending on the time of day, or the weather, or the season. Each picture uniquely beautiful, in its own way ever new and fascinating.

But this morning its absolute MAGIC.  I look at the clock and know I have to stop very soon and prepare for the work of the day but OH how I want to just sit here and drink in this scene that’s so particularly precious after the days of gloomy shadow and rain.  It brings and joy and amazement to my heart.  If only I had the time to just sit and meditate on this wonderful picture.  But I know it will soon change as the sun moves higher and I realize it has been a little gift that I had to be up at just this time to see this snapshot of beauty today. And I once again feel how blessed I am to have my home in this place and the opportunity to see such wonders in my backyard. A heartfelt wish that you could see this too, particularly those of you who haven’t seen the Australian bush.  We Aussies truly live in the amazing ‘lucky ‘country.   

Ruminations on Love and Loss

My old cat has come in to bed with me as he is wont to do in the mornings and has laid his soft warm body across my chest. He snuggles his head under my chin as a newborn babe lays its head against its mother’s neck.  It is a trusting thing and reminds me of tiny babies I have nursed and loved.  All  grown up now into such independent adults who don’t really share my memories of the precious moments when I had them to myself at 2 am, when all the world was asleep and it was just the two of us cocooned in that moment, so filled with love it was almost too much to bear. 

Raji isn’t very heavy though he’s a tall cat. He is very thin now and when I pick him up I can feel his bones. The vet says she’s pretty sure he has a tumour near his bowel.  He’s 14; a pure bred red point Berman.

“Is there anything that can be done,” I asked, hope trembling my voice.  “You could try an ultrasound but you would need to go to Sydney for that.  And if it is a tumour you could try some chemo but surgery won’t help.”

As I heard this I was thrown back to an almost identical scenario when my husband was diagnosed with his terminal illness. Then I didn’t have to make the decision – only to stand by him in whatever he chose to do. And he chose quality over quantity.  Now I have the decision to make alone. And I think “how can I put this gentle creature through that awful treatment which he won’t understand, just to keep him for a little longer with me. So the decision was simple - just palliative care and cherish the time I have with him. 

But simple is a head decision and doesn’t stop the heart from aching. 

And so I share his last months with him.  Does he know something is happening?  Does he really come to me more often for cuddles or do I just imagine that because it comforts me.  At times I wonder how I will manage without him.  He has been my comfort through my grieving. Who will comfort me when he goes?  Can I bear another loss?  Of course I know I must.  But there have been so many losses over the years and now as I get older I find those losses aching my heart at odd moments.

I look in the mirror some mornings and I see my mother’s shoulders  and I wish I could talk to her now and tell her I understand so much more about how she felt than I did when I was younger and so busy. I sometimes see myself through my grandchildren’s eyes and realize they think of me as an old lady.

So I guess in a way this impending loss is part of a new phase of my life. I don’t expect to completely retire.  But I will take a new path of work.  Will I become a writer?   Or is there another journey awaiting me?  Once a psychic woman told me that when I was about 87 I would be dictating a book to my secretary in the morning and in the afternoon as I sat in my favourite chair I would just go.   “That’ll do me just fine” I thought.  So it seems I have a few years yet.  I hope to do them well.

And as I write this I hear Raji calling at the door to be let in.   He has woken from his sleep in the shade outside and now is sitting at my feet crying to be picked up.  He stands on his hind legs and reaches his front paw up to stroke my face as I lean down to him.  How can I not give him my lap to curl in while I finish writing this?  He buries his head against my arm and his soft purring is like a lullaby as he drifts into sleep.

Easter Story

An Easter Story based on real events.

It was Easter Saturday about five in the afternoon.  The boy had just received the last bit of the money he needed from old Mrs Banksia for cleaning her yard.  It was a huge yard and the grass was getting out of hand.  It was probably too big a job for a ten year old but he had begged the old lady. He’d toiled all day  pushing the old hand mower then raking up all the grass and putting it in the bin.  Then she’d insisted he hose all the paths.  He was so worried he’d miss the shop if she wanted one more thing done, but at last she gave him the money and he took off running full pelt.

He wanted to buy his mum the Easter egg he’d had his eye on for the last two weeks.  It sat right in the middle of the Easter egg display in the window of the Candy shop down the road.  It was chocolate and covered with foil in a magical mix of bright purples and silver, greens and pinks with a bright satin bow around it. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. It seemed to glow like a jewel and he desperately wanted to get it for his mum. 

She worked so hard to support him and his sister and brother and this wasn’t easy in in the 1940’s when so many mothers were widowed from the war and work for women with kids was scarce and so hard – washing or cooking or scrubbing floors and taking in ironing just to put food on the table. Lately she looked so tired and worn.  But never a complaint escaped her lips and she always had a smile and an encouraging word for him particularly.   He wanted to see her face light up when he gave her the egg on Easter morning.

So he wheeled into the shop and breathless from his run, told the shop girl he wanted the big egg right in the middle of the window. “Sorry love we sold the last of the Easter eggs an hour ago there’s none left.”

“But it’s there in the window – I’ve seen it all week” and he ran back to look, his heart dropping when he saw the display was changed – no Easter eggs to be seen.  He ran back in “but you must have some somewhere – Look I’ve got the money “, and he held out his handful of coins – pennies and halfpennies, threepences and the odd sixpence and  one precious shilling,  the tears and panic beginning to spill through his voice ,  “you Must”.

In the devastation of the moment he hadn’t noticed the tall man with the dark curly hair sitting in the logue at the back of the shop.  The man stood up and came over, his eyes taking in the somewhat ragged barefoot boy.  He noted the  grass and dirt sticking to the boy’s legs , the bright ginger tufts of hair sticking up where the boy had  been running his hands through it and the struggle to keep the tears back, written all over the boy’s face.  “What’s the trouble son?” he asked, his voice pitched to a gentle tone,

It was too much for the boy.  Out poured the whole story – His mother who worked so hard and the odd jobs he’d scrounged over the last 2 weeks and the final hard day’s work, the exhaustion and despair in his voice telling more than the words. And now it was all for nothing.  No precious jewel bright Easter egg for his mum. And the man understood that it was about so much more than an Easter egg.

"Tell you what son, how about if you come around to my factory and we’ll make an Easter egg for your mum.”  “Really?” disbelief and hope warring in his voice.  Then the boy paused as he thought about all the warnings he had been given, but the man seeing this in his eyes, reassured him that there were a couple of other people still cleaning up in the factory.

So around they went and while the dark haired man warmed the chocolate for the mould he carefully drew more of the boy’s story from him.  He heard about the younger brother and sister and the family struggles and said casually “well , look at that, seems like I’ve heated too much chocolate here for just one egg so why don’t I make one each for your brother and sister and you too. While I do that you can pick out the foil to put around them.”

So the boy went through the various colours and carefully chose the foils and when the eggs were cool enough they foiled them together, the boy’s tongue poking out a little from the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on this important task.  Then his face fell. “Gee mista, I’ve only got enough money for the egg for my mum.  I can’t pay you for the others”. 

“Well that’s OK; you’ve done a lot of the work here yourself so you get a discount.  Now let’s find some boxes to put the eggs in and a bag to carry them.”

The man thought to himself that the light in the boy’s face as he carefully counted out the coins and took the bag was worth a hundred Easter Eggs.  But he didn’t dent the boys pride by not taking the money.

25 years later and the enticing aroma of toasted coconut filled the factory and wafted out the doors as the tall man, silver now sprinkled through his dark hair, made toasted marshmallows.  His face was lined and today his forehead creased with worry. He was expecting a traveller to arrive and the continuing supply of chocolate depended on the goodwill of this traveller because the account with the supplier was overdue. He needed the chocolate for the Easter eggs for this year so he could trade out of the slump his business was experiencing. The traveller he was expecting was not known for his kindness. 

Then in the doorway stood a different man than the one he was expecting, the logo on his badge indicating he was a senior man in the company.  The tall man’s heart sank – they’ve sent the big gun.  Then the man stepped forward, his ginger hair catching the light as he said with a smile “Hello John, you won’t remember me but …’